We Belong

I was always afraid I’d never fit in, you know? I’d say that’s a bit of social anxiety, maybe just casual worry – but I’ve always been an odd sort. I have a dry sense of humour, I use my words weirdly and my quietness seems to go either way, confusing folks or intriguing folks.

I’ve had many encounters over my life where people would call me strange, either in humour or in downright rejection. It’s created this perception in me that I’m an acquired taste, which I realise happens to everyone and that would mean everyone’s an acquired taste, but I still sometimes take it to mean I’m being singled out, that I am just, plainly put, really fucking weird.

On my good days, I embrace this. It is what it is – and those that stick by me are the ones that the universe meant to be for me. On my bad days, I slip into reflective shitty mode where I doubt myself – doubt, the mind killer.

My interest in BDSM complicated this at first. It gave me more things to question – to doubt. I started to feel like even more of an outcast, wondering where I belong.

BDSM eventually wound up healing me too. In fact, I would say it strengthened me. My interest in it, in D/s dynamics, forced me to look at myself, to sit down with myself and accept all the different parts of myself and eventually got them all to agree to fuse back together with me, the original.

The thing is, ladies and gents, no matter how strange you may seem to yourself, I can promise you the reality is vastly different. You do belong, you will be accepted, you have it in you to fuse together like I eventually did.

Don’t let the fear of being different pull you from your life – embrace it. Because lemme tell you something, it’s a thing of beauty to be different, to view the world in a different lens, to challenge yourself where others don’t, to walk the untrodden trail, to ask the questions others might not.

More importantly, what is normal anyway? It’s relative. It’s different, person to person. Find the things that make you happy and never look back to the crowd.

Portrait

 

 

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This one’s just a short one, born out of the notion of looking at people and thinking of what kind of life they lead. I went for intimate and short but sweet. Let me know how I went.

 

Picture this, if you will.
A blonde woman arrives home dressed in her work uniform, a dull grey top with black suit pants.
With a sigh, she throws down her purse, a simple pink thing, and collapses on the bed.
She is 24 and lives with her mother. She is single. She works Monday-Friday, nine to five, at a shoe shop. And this afternoon, she is exhausted.
Her room features walls decorated by a collection of album covers from her favourite artist – Led Zeppelin, The Doors, Cream – it was her dad that led her to fall in love with the rock and roll of the sixties and seventies.
The woman runs a hand through her long blonde hair and registers that it needs a cut. She sighs. Something else to keep track of across the week.
With that, she reaches down and slips out of her black pants.
Her legs, slender and pale, stretch across the floor, sliding against the fabric of the carpet.
She glances down at her underwear – plain bright green boylegs – and hooks her fingers around the elastic and pulls them off.
It falls to the floor twisted and crumpled.
From there, she unbuttons her top. That falls to the floor as well.
She’s wearing a black bra. It’s nothing fancy but it’s the kind of thing that becomes fancy in its plainness. Pretty soon that falls off as well, tumbling onto her blouse on the floor.
The blonde woman stretches back completely naked and feels the ceiling fan skim air down to her small breasts.
A lifetime ago, she would have hated her breasts – absolutely hated them.
Now, she thinks they’re the best thing about her.
She couldn’t describe why, perhaps it was just age that led her to see the appeal within herself.
With that, she fell into a peaceful nap.